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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26280676">Leaving the Nest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_smile/pseuds/morbid_smile'>morbid_smile</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gods and Monsters [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:48:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26280676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_smile/pseuds/morbid_smile</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maximillion Pegasus J. Crawford has just suffered a horrible loss: the death of his beloved Cyndia to a sudden disease. This fic follows his progress and growth from that initial heartbreak through his attainment of the Millennium Eye. I've filled in gaps where necessary, including some side characters like Pegasus's family and their dealings. I've also fleshed out some minor character relationships like Croquet who really has very little backstory. This is part 1 of a novel-length series that will carry through Pegasus' life and, after Duelist Kingdom, remain anime compliant by keeping Pegasus alive.</p><p>CW: depression and emotional abuse</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cyndia Crawford | Cecelia Pegasus/Pegasus J. Crawford | Maximillion Pegasus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gods and Monsters [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909510</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, madam. It'll be just one moment. Would you like to wait, or should we call you back?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll wait," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. It fluffed between her French manicured nails then fell against her back again, long and thick. She'd been in the process of braiding it for her hot yoga class, but now the braid was undone and forgotten. Before her on the little Louis the XIV register by the telephone stand, she had a yellow notepad. There were a great many items on the list, and so far none of them were marked out. Seeing that list made her anxious, and she began to tap her pen against the paper in time to the minute playing Bach as she waited on hold. Occasionally something new occurred to her, and with a little frown she added the new item to her list. Soon it would spill over onto the next page; perhaps she should have fetched a larger notepad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Antonio was there suddenly, shirtless and delectable as ever. He had been waiting for a good ten minutes, and although she'd assured him that the yoga class would have to be postponed, he hadn't left yet. He packed his bag slowly, watching her with a frown on his already pouty lips. It made him look es intelligent when he made that face, and although she'd been able to ignore it so far in lieu of the festivities they indulged in afterward between yoga poses, it bothered her more now that a crisis loomed before her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he broke the silence. "You want anything, Madam?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, we're done for today" she said, a little more curtly than she'd anticipated. She had a way of coming across as rather haughty; it some something the tabloids commented on endlessly. Nevertheless, it had never really struck her as problematic before, and it certainly didn't now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Antonio frowned all the more, "I made time for you today. There are other clients who wouldn't cancel."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you want money, I'll gladly pay you to go away." Really, was the sex worth it? He'd become more needy lately, and although he was young and it should have been understandable, he'd been pushing his luck even more. It was a telltale sign for her. Iris wasn't one to keep the young lovers in her life for long once they began to push for a real relationship. She had a husband for that, thank you, and he wasn't going anywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That won't be necessary," he growled, snatching his gym bag and making for the door. "I know my way out."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Congratulations," she muttered under her breath as the door slammed. She closed her eyes, letting the tinny minuet wash over her. Was it Mozart? Perhaps, though it didn't matter a whit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her poor son was suffering and here she was on the telephone. It was enough to make her blood boil. Perhaps she should have had them call her back? Certainly she could have them contact one of her personal assistants, though that did seem rather insensitive. Still, she should be with her son right now. It felt wrong to just be standing here, her gym towel on the register, her yoga mat still rolled up across her back, waiting for the woman on the other end of the line to return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iris Cavendish-Jones Crawford could have been a model, but she had chosen the silver screen instead. She was slightly built with large honey-brown eyes and brilliant chestnut hair that cascaded down her back. Although she was in her early 40s, she had never felt younger and she looked as good as ever: all the tabloids said so, and so it must be true. She made </span>
  <span>People </span>
  <span>magazine's list of Best Celebrity Beach Bodies consistently each year, and although the writers there never failed to add the little slap of "for her age" on the end of the commentary, the fact that she had won made it sting less. She hadn't been in a film for three years now, mostly because of her devotion to charity work and to her horses: she had three contenders for the Kentucky Derby last year, and two in her stable would be returning if her jockeys were to be believed. She'd developed a few laugh lines around the corners of her mouth, and all the face lifts in the world couldn't have prevented the crinkle from showing at the corners of her eyes or the distinctive neck lines of a woman as she aged. These were major concerns for her, although the only people who commented on them were the writers of those tabloids she so hated and followed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the tabloids got wind of the situation that had just befallen the Crawford household, they would descend without mercy to scrutinize the appearance of each member of the household, including the family and the staff. It would wreak havoc on Maximus' schedule, and she could already imagine the lengths her husband would have to go to in order to keep his illicit business out of the public eye. Not that the reporters in his native Las Vegas would wonder, for they had been long accustomed to the actions of the Crawford family for generations. California, though, was different. Perhaps she should relocate the lot of them? Maximillion wouldn't want to leave of course; he'd want to be near the places that reminded him of his beloved. She made a note in the little legal pad to speak with Maximus about it. He'd have some good ideas by then, once he'd had time to process the situation and come up with a fresh angle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello, Mrs. Crawford?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, I'm still here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was the sound of a keyboard in the background as the woman continued in her chipper little voice, "I've got the notes all made. The cake wasn't finished yet, so that's canceled now. However, you'll need to speak with your wedding planner to get more information. I see that he's listed here, but I can't seem to reach him. A mister Michaels...?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Darien. Yes, he's my brother. I'm sure he hasn't heard yet, but I knew you were planning on starting the cake today and Monsieur Guient doesn't like surprises." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He really doesn't," the woman said, a giggle leaking into her voice before she remembered the situation and turned it into an unconvincing cough. "It's canceled now, though. Thank you for calling ahead. Is there anything else I can do for you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I suppose not. Thank you." She hung up, sighing. The call to Darien could wait. Phone in hand, she went in search of her son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Crawford home was vast, but that wasn't really surprising. It had originally belonged to Iris herself. She'd received the land as a gift from her father before his death, and she'd been toying around with the sort of thing to build there before she'd met and fallen in love with the dashing and equally wealthy Maximus Crawford. They'd had big dreams then, she a budding starlet and he a rising name in the upper echelons of West Coast society. She'd been introduced to him as a person of interest, a nouveau-riche sort supposedly, though there were rumors that his family had been wealthy for some time, lost it all, and was only now slowly recovering since the death of the old patriarch. They'd hit it off almost immediately; they'd danced for most of the night, and within a week she'd slept with him already. It was a whirlwind romance complete with flowers sent to her dressing room and surprise visits when she was on set. When she'd taken a role for filming in Madrid, he'd shocked her by showing up after shooting one afternoon and proposing to her. They'd been married within a month, and soon were traveling the world together. Those had been some of the most beautiful moments of her life, and all the critics said that her love for Maximus Crawford had deepened her skill as an actress: where once they'd called her romantic parts flat and uninspired, now they were hailed as some of the most compelling performances of the year. She'd won an Academy Award at 27, and it still stood in a place of honor in their home, despite her not having any others to join it. Life had been perfect for a time, and it was in that mindset that they'd built their home in Marin, California next to the vineyard she'd so loved as a child. From her window, she'd watched the harvest come in for autumn, the mists rolling through the heavy boughs in spring and summer, and the winter snow padding it all in a cool, fluffy dreamscape each winter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The marble floor was imported Italian. It had once laid in a church, but the place had fallen into disrepair. Maximus had acquired it before the fashion began to turn toward rose marble, and although it was everywhere nowadays, theirs had been on the cutting edge at the time. The foyer had been featured in </span>
  <span>Architectural Digest</span>
  <span>, and Maximus still had a mint condition copy of the magazine framed on the wall so visitors could see the effect soft lighting and professional photography had: the foyer hadn’t been changed except to add a potted fern, and even that seemed as though it belonged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her ballet flats made no noise on the hard surface as she padded across the foyer, opening the double doors that led out to the patio and looking around. In the distance, she could see the Golden Gate Bridge across the San Francisco Bay, but she didn’t bother. She knew her son, and he wasn't much interested in bridges. She peered into the garden below, at the pool and the lagoon that fed it, and the tops of the palms that had already grown so much since she and Maximus had planted them together almost two decades ago. She was about to head inside and check his room, but then she saw a glint of pale hair. Breathing a sigh of relief, she descended the staircase and passed the pool, leaving the view behind as she made her way along the flagstone path into the greenery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had the famous landscaper and architect Frederick Olmsted been alive, he might have been commissioned to design the Crawford family's gardens. As it happened, the Parisian designer Iris had commissioned had done a fine job in his own right; it might have even made Olmsted envious. The plants were mostly rare specimens, though quite a few were native to California. The Crawfords paid a team of skilled horticulturists and arborists to maintain all of the plants there, including regular pruning, disease management, protection from frost, and propagation for those plants that needed it. It was an ever-changing landscape; like a fashionable woman, the gardens changed their colors and textures every month or so. It was designed to hold one's interest, and so far it hadn't disappointed anyone who entered. The lovely Cyndia  had adored those gardens, and she had often accompanied Iris' son there for hours. It didn't surprise her to find him there, sitting on a stone bench near the twin lion statues, each modeled after the ones that flanked the entrance to the New York Public Library: they had long been a personal symbol for Iris, and her designer had added the touch on her behalf.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	Maximillion was laying on the bench, his hands folded on his chest as he stared through the branches of the olive tree above him into the cloudless blue sky. His eyes were puffy, and she didn't have to ask if he'd been crying. Wordlessly, he shifted his legs aside and she sat on the end of the bench, watching him. They didn't speak for a long time, listening to the birds and the ever-present wind blowing in from the bay. At last he sighed, sat up, and looked at her. He hadn't shaved that day, but it didn't make him look any older. He may have been nearly a man, but he would always be her wide-eyed little boy. She pushed a strand of silvery-blond hair out of his eyes, but said nothing. There wasn't anything she could say that would help anything; years of acting out parts on the big screen had taught her that actions could speak more loudly than any words, especially in times like these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	Finally, Max sighed, "What am I going to do, Mom?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	She didn't answer immediately, and when she did she kept her voice low. "You're going to come upstairs and get cleaned up. Have you eaten anything?'</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	He shook his head, staring at the flagstones. "I don't think so. I might have had something from the commissary."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	She tsked, "At least Croquet made you eat. Come inside." She didn't want to say that he smelled like a hospital, that there was a bruise on his right arm as though someone had gripped him tight in a last painful gasp. She didn't know if that hand print belonged to the dead girl he'd so loved or to the girl's mother, begging her son for God knew what or perhaps losing control. Either way, it surely hadn't helped. She would have to ask Croquet later, once he returned from fetching Maximus from the office. She rubbed his shoulder helplessly, knowing that she couldn't force him inside. "It'll be alright, darling."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	He looked at her, his eyes, so like her own, brimming with tears. "No it won't. It'll never be alright again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	"Hush," she said, pulling him against her. She hugged him, muttering motherly things. She could do this, enact the role of the caring mother for the grieving son. It was a role familiar to her; she'd once enacted a similar one across from Ben Affleck. "It'll be alright."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	But instead of crying against her like she'd expected, Maximillion pulled back, scrubbing the unspent tears from his eyes. "Stop saying that. How can you say that? She was everything, and now she's dead. They let her die. I watched her die, and her parents just... just stood there."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	Iris frowned. She'd known the girl had been diagnosed with some sort of cancer, but that normally didn't bring instant death. She let him go, watching as he pulled away from her, pulling his knees to his chest. "Tell me. I only just heard myself. It might help you to talk about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	He shook his head, not meeting her eyes. "It was terrible," he said, his voice small. "Mom, it was the wort thing I've ever seen. I felt her go. I felt her pain, and it was..." He squeezed his eyes shut, his hair falling into his face as he sometimes had done as a child when he was feeling shy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	Felt it, he'd said. She frowned, already eager to talk to Croquet all the more. "Max, her parents loved her very much too. I'm sure it was just a terrible accident."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	"No, I felt it. They wanted her to die. Her mother, she was enjoying the attention. She was happy about it! I tried to tell her father, I even tried to tell the doctors, but they eventually kicked me out. Cyndia begged them not to, but they kicked me out and now she's dead." He rubbed the hand print on his wrist, "I didn't even know until she'd been dead for an hour! They left me sitting in the waiting room, and she'd been dead an hour, mom!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	Iris' mouth had settled into a firm line. The family didn't speak much about Maximillion’s strange ... abilities. They made both she and her husband uncomfortable, and who wouldn't be? But they'd learned to take him at his word when he said something felt wrong or someone had something bad in mind for them. They'd thought he'd had a mental illness for awhile -- schizophrenia did run in her family, shameful secret or not. However, after being examined by the head of the UCLA Parapsychology Department, he'd been given a lean bill of health. He was empathic, they'd said. He would sense things. He was just very sensitive to the pain of others. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	She would give Croquet a piece of her mind after this, and then she would lay into that poor dead girl's parents. How dare they do this to her son? He'd been nothing but chivalrous toward the girl, and this was how they repaid him, not even two months before their wedding? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	She grasped her son's shoulders, looking into his eyes, "We'll take care of them. For now, you come inside with me. You need to rest, clean up, and eat something."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>	He looked at her in that strange way that he had, then nodded. It was like she'd passed some kind of test, and as she helped him to his feet and put her arm around him, leading him back up the flagstone path, she couldn't help but feel that this was something that wouldn't just go way. She'd been a very emotional little girl, and as a woman she'd learned to control it. Maximus was the same way, and their son was the perfect blend of the both of them: he could be so passionate that he sometimes lost himself in flights of fancy. She had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling indeed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mrs. Pinnocle's Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus' mother drags him to a party, but nothing is the same without Cyndia -- and the vultures are starting to circle such an eligible and rich young man.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He splashed a bit of water on his face  then sighed. He’d bought a little time by slipping off to the men’s room, but that wouldn’t hold them off for long. No, to do that he’d need to vanish entirely, and there was really no way he could. </p>
<p>A knock at the door made him jump, but then he sighed. “Can’t you people give me any privacy?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, sir. Your mother insisted I check up on you.”</p>
<p>“Probably expects I’ve slunk out the window.” He dried his hands with a hot towel and adjusted his tie before opening the door. Croquet, his ever present bodyguard, was standing there looking as stern as ever. Pegasus didn’t blame him; it was a stuffy party full of stuffy people, all of whom were carrying on at the end of the hall. Their laughter was a steady hum, broken only occasionally by a woman’s high laugh. It might as well have been glass breaking for all it cheered him. “I’m sorry you have to be here too.”</p>
<p>“Your father wants me to look after you, especially with his current … situation.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m just glad to have a friendly face around. This is unbearable.”</p>
<p>Croquet frowned, “Sir, with all due respect, your mother is simply trying to look out for you. It’s been six months, you’re set to go off to UCLA in a few weeks, and she’s just trying to make the most of the time she has.”</p>
<p>“By trying to set me up with an unending supply of debutantes?”</p>
<p>Croquet’s frown deepened. As they reached the end of the hall, he hurried forward to open the French doors for his young charge and scout the area. Pegasus didn’t argue. He’d long since gotten past the fact that Croquet was terribly old-fashioned and nothing at all like the adults he’d encountered in boarding school. There one was expected to open doors for oneself, something Pegasus had found liberating, sensible, even if his schoolmates had whined about everything from laundry day to horseback riding, after which they were expected to unsaddle and brush their own horses. He waited until Croquet gestured that the coast was clear, then passed through.</p>
<p>One of the few things he didn’t mind about Mrs. Pinnocle’s party was the decor. Her gardens were the stuff of legend, all a tapestry of whites and greens: the roses, the hydrangeas, the lilies, and all the other flowers in various shades ranging from pale blue to ivory were underscored by the dark green foliage that surrounded them: hedges, weeping willows, and grand old olive trees spreading a canopy from which large round bulbs illuminated the darkness. It was the first garden party his mother had dragged him off to this season that had actually taken place in a true garden. The air carried the scent of food, to be sure, but it also smelled of the heady gardenias of a dying August, their scent made more potent by the California summer sun they’d absorbed all afternoon. </p>
<p>It might have been a scene worthy of painting and quiet contemplation were it not for the mass of people swarming past every beautifully planted flowerbed and hedge. There was a gaggle of well-dressed folk by the buffet, and more dancing beneath the canopy of lights in from of the tiny orchestral quartet. It was a large space, but he would hardly be able to pass unnoticed. Cyndia had been dead for six months, but people were still grabbing his arm to give their condolences. He’d have rather been home watching cartoons in bed. He scanned the crowd, “I don’t see her.”</p>
<p>“She’s speaking with Mrs. Pinnacle’s niece, Violetta.” He pointed, and when the crowd parted there she was, Iris Cavendish-Jones Crawford. </p>
<p>She was taller than just abut every other woman in the area, her hair the same pale silver-blonde as his own. She wore an understated gown of black silk accented by a simple jewel at her throat. She didn’t have to do much, even at over 40 years old, to draw people’s attention. The woman she spoke to was not so tall, and the thin cigarette holder she held in her well-manicured left hand didn’t impress him, but her face was kind if a little arched in the eyebrows. Likely they’d been plucked and drawn in. Her daughter was equally arched, her lips seemingly more accustomed to frowns than laughter. Her dress was nice enough, but Pegasus didn’t care. He looked back at Croquet, “I’m not going on anymore forced dates, no matter what she says.”</p>
<p>“That’s not anything I can help, sir. You have a great deal of responsibility.”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes I know. Let’s get this over with: you’re coming with me. If she starts to get annoying, you can pretend someone called you and make up some excuse to get me out of there.”</p>
<p>Croquet grunted, “I’m not in the habit of lying to Mrs. Crawford, not even for you.”</p>
<p>Pegasus merely smiled, “That’s an order, Croquet. Now come on: my mother’s waiting.” He headed into the crowd, walking quickly to force Croquet to keep up. The man was older, but he still had a knack for infiltration honed from years of experience.</p>
<p>By the time he reached his mother’s side, he had a pounding headache. With so many people about it was no wonder, but he knew there wold be no escape for such a simple reason. His mother was already smiling at him, the large faux smile she reserved for parties. It was one she’d carefully practiced during her years on stage and had served her well when she’d begin mixing with the Hollywood celebrities before she’d met her husband. Pegasus had found it usually was a harbinger of tedious conversation in front of strangers. “There you are, darling! Violetta, this is my son, Maximillion.”</p>
<p>Pegasus winced a little at the use of his first name, but tried not to be too obvious about it. He took the young woman’s hand and bowed slightly as he’d been taught, “Nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>The girl was smiling at him, but it wasn’t a smile he felt he could warm to. In his hand, hers felt unnaturally warm and in that moment he felt her nervousness, her sizing him up, her confidence that she and her mother could certainly work their way out of debt if this marriage worked out: <span><i>The man’s on the rebound. This should be easy.</i></span></p>
<p>He dropped her hand like a hot brick, but no one seemed to notice. His mother was going on, “Young Max has been accepted to UCLA’s prestigious art academy. He’s working to become a lawyer someday.”</p>
<p>That was a lie of course. He wanted to be an animator, but trust his mother to make things out to be more than they really were. He couldn’t even imagine himself working in a law firm all day. The thought of it made his fingers itch for his sketchpad.</p>
<p>“My Violetta is a lawyer in training as well! Oh, but I’m sure that’ll change when she finds the right man,” the old woman winked at him, his mother laughed her practiced laugh, the girl in question giggled, and Pegasus wanted nothing more than to sink into the grass. His headache was getting worse, pounding in the center of his forehead just above his nose. It was coming on again, surely due to the swarm of people, and there was nothing he could do about it. The world was swimming for a moment, and he thought he might black out.</p>
<p>A hand on his shoulder startled him back to reality, “We just got a call. It’s urgent. I’ll have to get him out of here.”</p>
<p>His mother looked a little shocked, but the expression was smoothed away in only the sparest moment with practiced ease. She nodded, looking worriedly at her song. He stood as tall as she did, so they were eye-to-eye. She frowned, then nodded again, “Alright.” Turning back to the ladies Pinnocle, she waved her hand in a grand gesture, “Oh, Max has some business to attend to with his father. It’s a shame, but then again he’s a busy young man.”</p>
<p>Violetta was giving him doe eyes as Croquet took his arm. The moment he made contact, Pegasus felt the tension ease out of his body ever so slightly. He let the man lead him out a side gate, thankful that they weren’t going to go back through all the people who must have still been inside the house. The side gate was covered in roses, and the area was lit more by the moon than electricity. The flower smell was heady as they passed beneath the heavy boughs and onto the grassy path that led past the butler’s quarters and the carriage house to the parking lot. The grass gave way to gravel, and by the time Pegasus slid into the backseat and Croquet shut the door behind him, he felt like he could breathe again. He rubbed his forehead.</p>
<p>Croquet sighed, “Was it bad this time?”</p>
<p>“It comes and goes,” Pegasus said as he settled back into the leather seats and Croquet started the engine, maneuvering around the other parked cars with practiced ease. He muttered into a cell phone for a few moments, but Pegasus didn’t care about the orders he’d be giving to the rest of his men. Doubtless they’d set up a perimeter of some kind, and some would stay to protect his mother while the rest would follow. He looked out the window at the trees swept past. They were the only ones on the road. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”</p>
<p>“I could tell it was bothering you. Mrs. Crawford could too, but I don’t think she noticed until I mentioned it.”</p>
<p>“Well, she was in the middle of a grand performance. Few things please her so well.”</p>
<p>Croquet said nothing, turning his attention back to the drive. He glanced in the rear-view mirror every so often, but Pegasus didn’t care. Or at least, he told himself he didn’t. He wanted to talk, certainly, but what could he possibly say? Cyndia was dead and nothing could bring her back.</p>
<p>The thought made him rub at his forehead again, the throbbing growing. “It’s getting worse.”</p>
<p>“Worse? Can something like that get worse?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I’ll need to speak with Dr. Loudon. He’s the only one who might know what’s causing it.”</p>
<p>“Has it ever been this bad before, sir?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell. When it gets too bad I start to panic, and then I can’t think much at all. How am I supposed to live in a dorm with the rest of the freshmen when I’m such a weirdo?”</p>
<p>Croquet frowned, “That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to mention to you. Your father isn’t sure about the dormitory situation.”</p>
<p>Pegasus tensed, “It’s about dad’s business again, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“I can’t say.”</p>
<p>“Can’t or won’t?”</p>
<p>Croquet sighed, “Max, you’re—”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to be called Max anymore, didn’t I say so?”</p>
<p>“Max, you can’t just change everything about yourself because you lost someone. I know that girl meant the world to you, but you’re still alive. You have to move on.”</p>
<p>He huffed, settling back into the leather seat. Everyone had the same words for him, and logically he knew they were right. He would eventually move on, get married to someone else, and live in ways that she never would now. </p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Weighing His Options</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus has a tense breakfast with his eccentric family.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The morning after the party, Pegasus dragged himself downstairs for breakfast, hair unkempt and still in his nightclothes. He and his parents were all rather busy people, especially since Pegasus had begun attending boarding school. Now that he was home in the brief interlude between grade school and college, his parents had slowed their own jet set lifestyle to a crawl, staying in the Las Vegas home for a few months. In that time, they had made every attempt to act like regular parents instead of busy celebrities who only saw their child every other weekend. It was less of a sacrifice for his father; his business associates were mostly centered in the Nevada area despite claims to the contrary concerning the made men and their mafioso influences on the gambling industry. His mother, though, had made a larger sacrifice. Iris Cavendish-Jones, as she called herself while performing, had just wrapped up filming alongside George Clooney in Rio De Janeiro, and for the time there was a lull. She was still mailed new scripts regularly, though not quite as regularly as Pegasus remembered seeing when he was a child, each of which was vetted by her agent in Hollywood before it was forwarded to their home, whether that be her family home in Marin County, California or his father's villa in Las Vegas, Nevada. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They insisted that the family dine together three times a day, beginning at eight in the morning. Normally that wouldn't have bothered Pegasus. He'd always wanted to spend more time with his parents, and although he was now almost an adult, better late than never. He would turn eighteen in October, and he'd envisioned that time being spent with his new bride with his parents dropping by to visit after the honeymoon. Now, though, there was nothing cheerful about their hovering. He would have been perfectly content to stay in his room all day, staring and the ceiling and wallowing in his own heartbreak. But his parents would have none of it. Cyndia had been dead six months, and while the pain was as fresh as ever for him, his parents felt he should begin to move on. They never hesitated to tell him so, either. Never a child prone to angry outbursts, Pegasus nevertheless found himself stifling the urge to yell at them on a regular basis. Breakfast was only the first exercise in restraint of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dragged into the dining room at fifteen after. Ignoring the pointed looks from both his mother and father, he slid into his his seat and asked the butler, Sam, for a bit of toast and some espresso. His father snorted, "Is that all you want? Ridiculous. Sam, bring him a bit of egg and some milk. Maybe a few apple slices as well."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Sam walked off to carry out this dubious order, Iris leaned in and touched her son's hand, "Max, you're getting too pale. You should spend some time outside. It will do you good. It's a lovely day, don't you think?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's fine," he muttered. There was nothing he cared for less than the beautiful day. In his opinion, every day without Cyndia had no business being beautiful; however, he daren't say so to his mother. The last time he'd said something of the sort, she'd worked hard to stifle a snarky reply. He could tell that she thought he was being melodramatic, and despite her good intentions, he couldn't abide not being taken seriously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll see that he gets out a little more," Croquet said as he sipped his coffee. Although officially Croquet was only a bodyguard, everyone at the table knew better. Maximus Crawford would never have treated his own brother like a servant at mealtime, and he insisted each day that Croquet accompany them at the table despite Croquet's protestations. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I hope so," Maximus sighed, "I heard you had to leave Mrs. Pinnocle's party rather early last night."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pegasus nodded as Sam slid a plate in front of him: toast with a single egg, scrambled the way he liked it, and half of a red apple cut into neat little slices. Despite his earlier feelings, the egg looked tasty, and he found himself scoping some onto his toast and munching away. "There were too many people," he said, swallowing his food.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iris frowned, "I thought you were getting better."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pegasus sighed, "I was. I don't know what's wrong. It was easier with... when I had someone to talk to about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh darling, but we're here too. You can always talk to us."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pegasus looked between them: his mother in her elegant lounge dress and neat Italian leather sandals, his father in his three piece suit, and Croquet in his mirrored sunglasses and darkly formal garb. They were all looking at him, and even Croquet, although his face was a mask, exuded a sense of hopefulness. They cared about him, he knew that, but they didn't care about him the way she had cared about him. He and Cyndia had spent every moment they could together, even sneaking out of their homes to spend time together when the weather and their proximity permitted. He slumped a little, and took a bite of apple, "I wouldn't know what to say."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father nodded, Croquet went back to adding Tabasco to his eggs benedict, but his mother's eyes went a little misty. That was never a good sign, and he braced himself as she said, "Oh, sweet pea, I know what you mean. Your parents are no substitute for a lover, a beloved confidante."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pegasus nodded. He hadn't expected her to be so understanding, "Thanks, mom."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I have an idea. How about you try seeing someone new?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pegasus had been reaching for his second piece of toast, but her words stopped him. "What?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know, Mrs. Pinnocle's niece Violetta was quite taken with you. She's quite an accomplished young woman, and she's working toward becoming a lawyer as well."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mom, I've been accepted to the Art Department."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tsked, then continued, "She doesn't need to know that. Everyone knows that art isn't a field you can make any money in, and you remember what your father said, don't you dear?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pegasus did. His father had brought him into his study in this very house when he was just beginning high school. Their conversation had been the most frank, and the longest, that they'd ever had. He nodded, "I remember."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From his other side, his father cleared his throat, "Iris, this might not be the best time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We can't baby him, Maxi."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, his father turned to Pegasus, "She is right. We don't want you to wade in grief so long that you forget to live. Don't toss your life away. Art had always been an escape for you, and it's a fine field with a prestigious history. Your mother is an artist too, and we both know that the field is a cutthroat one. You can't just buy your way in, and we want to be sure you can support yourself should something happen to your mother and I."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know." The thought of losing his parents made his heart beat faster for a moment, but then the fear died away. It was an increasingly familiar sensation for him: the rush of fear or happiness, followed swiftly by nothing, only a numb sensation. The beauty of the day didn't please him as it once had, and already he'd found himself unable to paint at all. His brush, his creative spirit, seemed to have died with her. "I still don't see how this relates to the dating scene."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You need a new confidante. You need someone to love, who loves you in return. That will help."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She doesn't like me the way you think she does. She's a gold digger, I could sense it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His parents exchanged a glance. It was quick, but he'd noticed it. They were never comfortable when he referred to his psychic abilities. His mother sipped her orange juice as his father cleared his throat, "Well, perhaps you're judging her too harshly."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your father looked into her family a little. Her full name is Violetta Mondovi, of the Mondovi Family."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That doesn't make me feel any better." The Mondovi Family was notorious in the Vegas mafia scene for their ruthless brutality. Pegasus' own father had met with the consigliere of their family and developed a truce years ago, but there was always the fear that they would overstep their boundaries and begin to terrorize the streets once more. "Why would you want me to date someone like that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father hesitated, glancing at Croquet, then cleared his throat, setting his coffee cup aside. "It might be a way to unite the families. There's talk of the Mondovi Don running protection rackets again in the old style. He's trying to get a foothold in the casinos on the Strip. Word has it that he's already acquired the Mustang Ranch, but no one knows whether of not he's changed the policy for the girls there."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So he wants a few casinos and he's bought a brothel. That doesn't mean much, dad."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It does for the Mondovis. If they can get enough people on their side, they can change the way things are done in Vegas. It could be bad for business. They've never much liked the peace as it is now. They always want more."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Iris sniffed, "Maxi, please not at the table."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry dear, but Max needs to have some idea of what he's up against."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother stood, leaving her juice behind. "I think I'll take a stroll," she said before going back into the house. The men watched her go. Sh had never had any taste for the details of her husband's business, even though she reaped the benefits tenfold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maximus waited until she was out of sight before looking earnestly at his son, "If you can help pave the way for peace, it will be a huge contribution and a big step in the right direction for us all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"By dating Violetta," Pegasus added, frowning. "I don't like it. I don't want to have a marriage of convenience, dad. You and mom didn't."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father nodded, "Well, I'm not forcing you. But you're almost a man now, and it's time you began to look at the bigger picture, not just your own desires."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So I'm selfish if I don't want to date? Cyndia's dead. I can't possibly think of anyone else now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maximus nodded, frowning in a way that made his impressive mustache droop. It made him look like a sheriff in the wild west. "I'm not saying anything of the sort, but sometimes a man has to sacrifice if he wants to get anywhere in life." He sipped his coffee, "Think about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pegasus shoved back from the table, unconsciously imitating his mother's behavior from only a moment ago. "I'll be in my studio," he sneered, then turned on his heel and headed back into the house. It was the first place that came to mind, and he walked there quickly, not daring to run for fear of the concerned expressions he'd get from he staff. Once he was inside, he slammed the door and locked it, leaning against the frame and catching his breath. Every meal was the same; they always wanted more from him, and it was all he could do to wake up each morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he turned to head toward his easel, though, he froze. It was no wonder he couldn't paint here anymore. From every corner of the room, her eyes followed him: a special shade of Bahamian sea blue that he'd captured again and again in every painting. He'd painted her in acrylic, in watercolors, and in oil; he'd sketched her in oil pastels, in chalk, in pencils, and in ink. She watched him from every shelf in every medium he'd ever tried, her smile dazzling in some portraits and thoughtful in others, her hair done up in an elegant up-do in a few, braided in more, but flowing long and free in most, long golden waves that reached past her waist. She'd been growing it out for their wedding, and he'd enjoyed capturing the life in it as the wind played havoc. He should have turned them to the wall, he knew it, but whenever he meant to do it, he'd feel a pang of guilt so terrible that his resolve melted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he did as he'd done for the past few weeks whenever he went to his studio: he sank to the ground surrounded by her likeness, pulled his knees to his chest, and wept.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you appreciated the call back to that iconic image of Pegasus in his studio surrounded by Cyndia's likeness and miserable &lt;3</p>
<p>Pegasus mentions early, when speaking of his father Maximus Crawford, "It was less of a sacrifice for his father; his business associates were mostly centered in the Nevada area despite claims to the contrary concerning the made men and their mafioso influences on the gambling industry." For the most part, the mafia influences are thought long gone in real life Vegas. Clearly, though, Pegasus sees it differently.</p>
<p>Consigliere is, according to Wikipedia, "A real-life Mafia consigliere is generally the number-three person in a crime family, after the boss and underboss in most cases.The boss, underboss, and consigliere constitute a three-man ruling panel, or 'administration'." In short, Pegasus' father has a lot of power and sway in the Vegas mafia scene.</p>
<p>Pegasus describes himself as an empath, a person with psychic gifts who can feel emotions and intentions in other people. These individuals become easily overwhelmed by large crowds. Pegasus is a particularly strong empath with a little extra oomph.</p>
<p>The Mustang Ranch has been featured in a number of interesting books and discussions on legalizing brothels, but it once had mafia connections. According to Wikipedia, "The Mustang Ranch is a brothel in Storey County, Nevada, about 20 miles (32 km) east of Reno.  Under owner Joe Conforte, Mustang Ranch Brothel, the precursor to Mustang Ranch, became Nevada's first licensed brothel in 1971, eventually leading to the legalization of brothels prostitution in 10 of 17 counties in the state. Mustang Ranch opened to the public in 1976 and was America's largest brothel with 166 acres, and the most profitable.The Mustang Ranch was forfeited to the federal government in 1999 following Conforte's convictions for tax fraud, racketeering and other crimes. It was auctioned off and reopened in 2005, 5 miles (8.0 km) to the east under the same name but different ownership."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Mother Knows Best</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Depression takes a toll on Pegasus, and he sees no way through to the other side. His mother isn't very helpful.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Max, honey, are you alright?"</p>
<p>He opened his eyes groggily, peering around. The room was full light despite the heavy curtains he'd had installed. He fumbled for his phone, glanced at the time, and winced. "I'm fine. Just slept late."</p>
<p>"May I come in?"</p>
<p>He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and shoving some of his hair out of his face. "Sure, I guess --"</p>
<p>She was already turning the handle, though, and there stood his mother in her riding gear, knee high boots thumping on the wooden floor. "My poor baby. The party was quite rough on you last night, wasn't it?" She smiled, but he didn't have to push to sense the frustration on the edge of her mind, frustration she was trying hard not to show. She came from a long line of actors, so normally she'd do an excellent job. Her son, though, was no typical audience. She came to sit on the edge of his bed, looking around his room and frowning. "I'll send Yvette up to clean. It looks like a pigsty in here."</p>
<p>"I can take care of it. It's nothing."</p>
<p>"Nonsense, that's her job." She felt his forehead, frowning, and he could feel how much she simply wanted to shake him. "Are you feeling alright, pet?"</p>
<p>"Mother, why don't you just say what's on your mind?"</p>
<p>She started, but the facade broke only for an instant before she was collected once more. "Very well, though I'd prefer it if you didn't use your talents on your own mother."</p>
<p>He sighed, dipping his head a little. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"Good. Now, since you want me to be blunt, you've been sleeping in later and later."</p>
<p>He shrugged, "I'm tired."</p>
<p>"I think it's more than that. I may not have your gifts, but it seems to me that your father and I have indulged them too long. You left poor Violetta quite upset."</p>
<p>"She's only interested in my money. I told you so. Do you really want me to date someone like that?"</p>
<p>"Max, darling, everyone will want to date you for your money. It's the best thing about you, or at least the thing that attracts initial interest. It's a good thing you inherited my good looks. That's another point in your favor, certainly, but don't expect everyone you date to be a saint."</p>
<p>Pegasus was used to her dismissiveness, but that didn't mean he'd just let it slide without comment. "Cyndia didn't want me for my money," he said a little too bluntly.</p>
<p>She sighed, standing. "That's what this is about. I knew it. We never should have encouraged you and that girl. Her family's losing their money quickly, did you hear? The father gambles, and word has it that his other daughter is inheriting the habit."</p>
<p>Pegasus studied the pattern in the bedsheets and said nothing. His mother was beyond all reason once she made up her mind, and hearing how poorly Cyndia's father was doing would certainly elicit no pity in her. She was a firm believer in the notion of traditional manhood, and a weak man was worse than no man at all in her mind. Normally, he might have argued her on that point if it'd been anyone else. Truly though, if Cyndia's father wanted to gamble to deal with his grief, that was his business. There was always a chance he'd come out of it well enough, or that he'd realize how dangerous the gambling bug could be and pull away before the inevitable nosedive. And if he crashed and burned, Pegasus didn't have much sympathy. He remembered the man frowning when Pegasus had offered to help pay for Cyndia's treatment, ignoring his pleas to remain by her side in her hospital room: <em>She's still mine and I'll do what's best for her.</em></p>
<p>That man's best had landed Cyndia in the grave. The whole family had made it quite clear that he wasn't wanted at Cyndia's side or theirs; he wasn't family, and now he never would be.</p>
<p>His mother stood with a huff, "I want you to go out with Violetta." She sidestepped the clothes he'd left piled in the middle of the floor. When had he become such a slob? There was a time when he'd taken great care to fold everything, to make sure things were all in their place. Now, such concerns felt pointless as each day bled into the next.</p>
<p>"Are you serious?"</p>
<p>"Just one date, pet. Is that too much to ask?"</p>
<p>"It is. The answer is no." He crossed his arms, well aware that he was being a stereotypical huffy teenager and not caring in the slightest.</p>
<p>"Nonsense. She's an artist too, did you know?"</p>
<p>"No she's not." He could feel it, his own mother pulling the same stunt on him that she'd pulled on Mrs. Pinnocle and her gold-digger daughter: <em>He just needs a nudge in the right direction</em>. The girl had struck him as cold and humorless. He'd probably come across the same, if only because of the press of people and his own miserable loneliness. But whatever. He knew what he'd felt from her, and it's wasn't artistic vision or a creative spark. She'd thought him an easy mark. That his mother would fall for it despite his protestations just infuriated him.</p>
<p>He and Cyndia had looked forward to their summer together as graduated seniors. They were going to get married. He should have been starting a life with her, and instead he was stuck at home falling into the roles his parents forced on him.</p>
<p>He thought of saying so just to help her understand, but he thought better of it. Now, any mention of Cyndia made frustration roll off her in waves. No, he was better off not mentioning anything about it, just to be safe. And so, he lied. "I'll try," he sighed.</p>
<p>His mother ruffled his hair, "That's my boy."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>&lt;&lt;&lt;&lt;&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt; </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've purposefully characterized Pegasus' mother as gaslighting and emotionally unavailable. I'm laying the groundwork here for the later coping mechanisms he'll demonstrate and that will, eventually fail him. So do bear with me!</p>
<p>I drew on my own experiences with depression for Pegasus. As an artist, I completely relate to his struggles.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Dr. Loudon's Laboratory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus visits a doctor and gets an idea.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Part 1: Leaving the Nest</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter 5: Dr. Loudon’s Laboratory</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well Max, you have a clean bill of health.”</p>
<p>The boy frowned, pushing a bit of silver-blond hair out of his eyes, mindful of the electrodes pressed against his temples. “I don’t want to be called Max anymore. I’m going by my middle name now.”</p>
<p>Dr. Loudon scratched his beard with a smile. “So it’s Pegasus then, eh? I see. It’s hard going on without someone you love.”</p>
<p>Pegasus looked away, noting the plainly painted cinder block walls. The entire room was faded blue, the color of a clear summer sky glimpsed through a dirty window. Croquet had offered to drive him, but Pegasus had enjoyed driving himself for once, taking the desert highway at top speed and letting the engine open up on the empty roads. It was a different story once he reached California, and he had a few close calls while navigating the Cal. Tech campus, despite having been there many times as a child.</p>
<p>The doctor was a short, stocky man by average standards. Pegasus, already  over six feet tall and lanky, made the man look even tinier. There’d been a thrill in coming here since he was a child, back when Dr. Loudon’s office had been in one of the big glass rooms of the main Neurological Sciences building, but John Loudon had clearly fallen out of favor with the men who made decisions. His workspace was far smaller than it once was, and his staff was more limited. Pegasus wondered why his father wasn’t donating more, but then, when he thought of his parents’ reaction each time they’d been forced to accompany him here, it made sense. They believed, but they didn’t <em>really</em> believe.</p>
<p>Loudon had grayed a bit, a salt and pepper look that also added frost to his black beard. Pegasus’ dad would have dyed it, but Pegasus thought it looked rather distinguished. “They’re trying to make me date. They also want me to commute to campus. I was hoping that things would be different by now, but I’m trapped in their little cage for good.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my dear boy, don’t let them upset you. I’ve known you since you were a shy boy clutching a velveteen rabbit. You’ll be fine, son. Your parents love you, and they mean well.”</p>
<p>Pegasus nodded, “I guess you’re right.” But he didn’t believe that. His parents wanted what was best for them: a son who would grow up and take the reins from them, marry a woman who fit their idea of a perfect wife, and have a few heirs. They weren’t happy about his choices — his art, his Cyndia, his shyness.</p>
<p>Dr. Loudon gave his shoulder a quick squeeze then turned to his massive CT machine. “Now that we’ve established your good health, go ahead and lay down so we can do the brain scan.”</p>
<p>Pegasus did as he was told, allowing Loudon’s assistants to affix the sensors to his temples. When he lay down on the cushioned bed, for a moment he thought he saw a flash of familiar blonde curls. He sat up, blinking, but there was nothing there. The assistants glanced at Dr. Loudon who frowned, “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>Pegasus nodded, “I’m fine. I just thought I saw something.”</p>
<p>“That’s alright. It’s normal for you to have the jitters. You’ve been under a great deal of stress. Just relax. You’ve been in this old cat before.”</p>
<p>Pegasus lay back, allowing the assistants to fix the wires he’d inadvertently skewed, then gave Loudon a thumb’s up once the assistants were out of the room. Through the glass, Loudon returned his gesture. Pegasus lay back then, staring at the ceiling. The CT Scanner was still for a long moment, then it clunked to life, whirring as it circled his head. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his mind calm. It was hard.</p>
<p>He’d thought he’d seen more than just an intern. Even Cyndia’s sister didn’t have hair quite that shade. He’d spent hours looking at her hair, painting it, running his fingers through it, burying his face in it…</p>
<p>The image came to him then: Cyndia in her coffin, her lovely hair splayed out around her, roses and lilies adorning her on both sides, a bouquet clutched in her hands that she would take to the grave. Her face: he’d had trouble looking at it at first, but once he’d started he couldn’t stop. It was like looking into the abyss, only this abyss hadn’t stared back at him as Nietzsche had supposed. The abyss yawned before him, and he saw no end to it. The days went on, and yet he felt the same as he had on that day: empty and bereft. His journal, the one he’d kept since he was a child, had stayed blank since that day save for a single entry two days after her death: A light has gone out. He couldn’t bear to write anymore, and painting was even more excruciating. He doubted he’d ever create again.</p>
<p>“We’re all done!”</p>
<p>Beneath him the bed shifted and he blinked, dazed by the fluorescent light. “I didn’t even notice.”</p>
<p>Loudon clapped him on the back, “You fell asleep, I think. It’s normal to sleep quite a lot when you’ve been through trauma.” He held out a hand and Pegasus took it, pulling himself to his feet.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Pegasus retrieved his car keys and wallet, tucking them into his inside coat pocket. It was kind, but he felt so far away from the kindness that it was like watching a stage play. Behind the glass, the good doctor’s graduate students were noting and organizing the data they’d collected. It would be a few days before Pegasus heard anything new, and he doubted there would be any change at all. “When should I come back?”</p>
<p>“I’ll call you. Take care of yourself, Ma — I mean, Pegasus. If you need anything, just call me.” Pegasus must have given him an odd look, for the man suddenly looked grave, “I’m serious: call me anytime, about anything. Grief can make a person think strange thoughts, but you’re not as alone as you believe.”</p>
<p>Pegasus nodded, already dismissing the advice. Not even Doctor Loudon could understand the depth of his pain: How could he? Cyndia had been his best friend, his beloved. He’d known her mind, her feelings, so intimately that he could feel her on the other side of the house as she came through the door on those afternoons they spent together each summer. He’d felt her happiness when he’d proposed, and he’d felt her terror and despair as her light went out.</p>
<p>Investigation had convinced him that he’d been wrong, that Cyndia’s parents hadn’t contrived to murder her, but that didn’t help him sit well. He found himself reaching out with his mind, over and over, each time touching nothing. Before, he would feel her. Nothing specific, just the felling of her there, present, alive and existing. Now, he felt nothing. Every time it happened, it reminded him of all he’d lost. </p>
<p>He was halfway out the door when Dr. Loudon snapped his fingers. “I have a thought. You know what you need? A vacation.”</p>
<p>Pegasus winced, thinking of the last vacation he’d been on. His parents had made what should have been an exciting trip to Melbourne feel mundane. They’d gone to all the high class tourist traps, and spent most of their time in the hotel and city. When Pegasus had suggested getting away from the beaten path, they’d lectured him on safety and knowing his place. It had been miserable: parties and dinners with people he neither knew well nor wanted to know. “My parents don’t travel well.”</p>
<p>“What about you? You’re young, fresh out of high school: Why not go on your own?”</p>
<p>The idea had honestly never occurred to him. “Do you honestly think they’d let me?”</p>
<p>“You can always ask.” He chuckled, and it held such genuine amusement that Pegasus, for a moment, half believed it could be contagious. He squashed that thought guiltily, for how could he ever be happy while in her grave Cyndia decayed? Dr. Loudon went on, unaware of his young friend’s inner struggle, “If they give you too much trouble, tell them it’s my professional recommendation. I’m still a doctor, after all.”</p>
<p>“I’ll tell them, thanks.” Pegasus pulled the door shut behind him, leaving the scent of coffee and medical paste behind, then ran a hand through his hair.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maximillion…</em>
</p>
<p>He jerked, turning, scanning the hallway. It was empty, all the doors closed. It was a late Friday afternoon, and most of the other faculty had gone home for the weekend. The offices were dark.</p>
<p>Pegasus shook his head. Perhaps a vacation wasn’t such a bad idea. He was beginning to hear things, and he kept imagining that he saw her out of the corner of his eye every so often, a slim golden-haired shape in a long blue dress, the sort she wore on their summer picnics or when she posed for his paintings. He was too young to go mad, surely. Mother’s side of the family was rife with such things, but normally the melancholy that led to such disastrous ends only settled in around middle age. And Dr. Loudon would surely tell him if his brain scans seemed unusual.</p>
<p>Yes, he thought, fidgeting with his car keys as he summoned the elevator, perhaps a vacation was just the thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Duke University’s parapsychology department was well known for a long time in the USA. Pegasus is just one of many participants in the ongoing studies. You can read about the history of the department and its findings here: https://www.newsobserver.com/news/local/community/durham-news/dn-community/article10214690.html</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pegasus’ special gift, like Yugi’s fascination with games and Seto’s fascination with systems/strategies, is empathy. Mixing real life empath abilities with extrasensory perception means Pegasus has a lot to shoulder, especially in deep mourning. You can read more about real-life empaths here: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-empaths-survival-guide/201703/the-science-behind-empathy-and-empaths</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Grand Tour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus arrives in Egypt.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maximillion Pegasus James Crawford stepped off the plane in Cairo to meet the desert wind and take in the fresh air. There was really nothing quite like desert air. He’d grown up in the Mojave and, although it and the Gobi were very different, it was still a desert. It was a welcome change from London where it had rained every day and, sadly, he’d been accosted by people he once knew well. They’d dragged him to parties and late night clubs where he’d watched them revel in their youth and abandon themselves to drink and music. He’d felt far older than them all then, even though he was the youngest by a few months. Of course, the paparazzi was horrendous. His mother was an actress of course, and his father was one of the wealthiest men in America. It was natural that they’d expect the child of such a union to pull a Paris Hilton, but Pegasus dutifully avoided them or just kept his head down and hoped they’d find him too boring and reclusive for their tastes. It had been far more stressful than it should have been.<br/>Paris had been beautiful, but the constant thought that this was the City of Light was overpowered by the secondary notion that it was also the City of Love. He’d visited the Louvre of course, and the smaller museums devoted to Rodin, Monet, and Picasso among many others. He was enthralled with their work, and in Monet’s museum, a circular space designed to make the viewer feel immersed in the impressionistic waterlilies and Japanese footbridges, he’d felt some of the ache leave him even if it was only for a moment. He’d sketched just about everything he came across in Paris: tourist destinations like the Eiffel Tower of course but also various views of the River Seine and the architecture that graced it. There was a massive clock face that he photographed in the end, simply because he’d need more time to get it exactly right. He texted his parents once a week, but aside from that he didn’t contact them. Lately, he’d begun to sense their worry and the unspoken question: When are you coming home? He’s begun to let the texts lapse unread, and he wondered if he planned to return at all. <br/>Cairo, though, awakened the memories of home and homesickness. He even missed the gaudy neon of the Vegas Strip itself, though he rarely visited his father’s casinos there anymore.<br/>Normally he’d have hailed a cab and made his way to a hotel. His parents would have insisted on the finest of everything. However, he preferred to take a more adventurous path. He’d purchased some hiking gear while in London at a place filled with college students ready to spend their summer backpacking. His friends expected him to do something similar, and  a few even asked to join him. They meant well, he could sense it, but he just wasn’t in the mood for company. He planned to get away from people, to lose himself in a foreign place and perhaps forget for a little while the pain in his heart.<br/>On his first week he saw the pyramids and visited all the local museums. On the second week, however, he checked out of the hotel. He’d heard of a little known village far from the tourist stops and felt that he could perhaps explore a bit. The man at the front desk, when he heard of his plans, shook his head. “But you are too young for such a thing! The desert has mo mercy.”<br/>“I’ll be careful,” he said, signing the receipt. “Do you know cab drivers who’d take me someplace off the beaten track?”<br/>The man behind the counter nodded, “I can certainly find one for you, Mr. Crawford.”<br/>“Thank you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In the old tradition, young people were encouraged to go on lengthy country-hopping trips across Europe. This was referred to as The Grand Tour, and was deeply associated with the transition from childhood to adulthood, specifically for young men.</p>
<p>According to the Encyclopedia Brittanica, The "Mojave Desert [is an] arid region of southeastern California and portions of Nevada, Arizona, and Utah, U.S. It was named for the Mojave people. The Mojave Desert occupies more than 25,000 square miles (65,000 square km) and joins the Sonoran, Great Basin, and Chihuahuan deserts in forming the North American Desert." Las Vegas is in the Mojave, so Pegasus would have spent a great deal of his childhood there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Modern Kul Elna</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus witnesses a thief being attacked and dragged away. And who is this mysterious turbaned man who can see his deepest desire?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You sure this is a good spot?” The cabbie was looking around at the tiny town. They’d parked near a small produce stand by a mud brick home, “Looks a bit slow.”<br/>
“I’m just going to sketch a bit. Can you pick me up in two hours?”<br/>
“If you’re paying the fare, I’m there,” he said with a wink. “The meter’s running.”<br/>
“Thanks, Pegasus said, then headed up the path through the marketplace toward the city’s center. <br/>
When they reached the tiny town of Kul Elna, Pegasus was a little daunted. It was nothing like Cairo or the other major cities of Egypt that he’d visited so far. The streets were unpaved, the storefronts set up like an old-fashioned open-air marketplace, and the people were clad in simple garments. He was very obviously a foreigner, but that didn’t stop him from making his way down the middle of the main road, his sketchbook over one shoulder. All the buildings looked to be made of mud brick, and although the village was populated, it was quite clearly not a bustling place. <br/>
The few people he encountered, working the market stands or shifting through them, barely acknowledged his existence. It wasn’t that he enjoyed being pointed out as a foreigner, but he didn’t even get the impression that they were studiously ignoring him. No, his presence didn’t even register for them. Pegasus shrugged off the bad feeling he had, the feeling that he was invisible, and focused on what he’d come for. The view of the desert on all sides was beautiful — vast and empty, a sea of sandy death against a cerulean blue sky. <br/>
He was looking for a good place to sit and sketch when there was a commotion down the single road that cut through the middle of town. From one of the narrow alleyways burst a man carrying a bundle wrapped in a dirty cloth. He was running at top speed, his underfed ribcage clearly visible, the turban slipping from his head, and simple linen pants he wore badly frayed and patched in many places. The look in his eyes spoke of sheer terror, so much so that Pegasus was riveted to the spot. Behind him, from the same alleyway, spilled an impossible number of men. They carried spears of all things, and one or two held what looked to be scimitars. It was like a scene out of a movie. Pegasus took an involuntary step back, suddenly very aware of his own lack of weaponry and the fact that he stood out painfully in the small hamlet. The man with the parcel, who could only be a thief, saw him. Their eyes locked, and the thief was so startled by the stranger that he stumbled and fell, landing only a few feet away. The men with spears were on him immediately, and Pegasus had a terrible feeling that they would murder the man right there in the middle of the street. “Wait, stop! If he stole that necklace, I’ll gladly pay you for the trouble. Here’s all the money I have!”<br/>
The men with spears paid him no mind, entirely focused on their captive. From behind them stepped a new figure, and this one gave Pegasus a start. His eyes… there was something vast and empty about them, though they were the same blue as the vast empty sky above. He wore a robe and turban, and from each ear hung a large golden hoop. However, the most obvious piece of jewelry hung about his neck from a thin leather strap: a thick golden pendant in the shape of an Egyptian Ankh. It was the only bit of jewelry Pegasus had seen, until the man knelt to pick up the parcel. Inside, something golden caught the light, a strange bundle indeed. Two sharp points hung limp from the cloth, and although Pegasus couldn’t put his finger on it, he could sense something terribly strange about both the parcel and the man with the earrings. He approached him, gesturing to the thief who had begun wailing like an animal caught in a trap. This man was obviously in charge. Pegasus gestured to the softly weeping man, “Please, what are you going to do to him?”<br/>
The group’s leader turned and met Pegasus’ eyes, frowning. “This is no place to flaunt your wealth. This is the city of tomb robbers.”<br/>
“Please. If you like, I can pay you for any damages.” The thought that these men might be more enamored with Hammurabi than the United Nations was repeating over and over for him. He was quite sure that if the man was taken out of sight, he would be killed. He felt the impovershed thief’s terror thick as fog, and the men surrounding him felt only a horrific fury. Having seen enough of death, Pegasus didn’t want to feel responsible for another life. “He at least should have some sort of trial. It’s not right to simply… enact your own private justice.”<br/>
The man continued as though Pegasus hadn’t even spoken. His eyes bore into him and Pegasus felt cold despite the desert’s heat. “There is nothing here that can heal the pain in your heart. Leave this place and never return.” With that, the man turned and followed as the rest of the men dragged the wailing thief between them.<br/>
Pegasus stood for a long moment there in the middle of the street. Around him, the people had gone back about their business as though nothing had happened. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears: <em>How had he known? How had he known about the pain in my heart?</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kul Elna was the site of the Millennium Items' origin. According to the Yugioh Wiki, "Kul Elna (クル・エルナ) was a village where Aknadin created the 7 Millennium Items, through the sacrifice of 99 human souls. Kul Elna was once a village of thieves and criminals, and was chosen by Aknadin for that very reason. The requirements of the Dark Spell necessary to forge the Millennium Items included the sacrifice of 99 human souls, so Aknadin chose the darkest place in the Kingdom of Egypt in order to give power to the Items.[1] In the process, all the village's inhabitants were sacrificed and the village destroyed, with Aknadin apparently the only one who knew the village's location." Since we don't have a concrete location for Shadi's underground dwelling during this time, i went with Kul Elna for symbolic purposes. Just as in ancient times, it once again is the beginning of the Shadow Games since Pegasus will go on to create Duel Monsters and, in turn, start the process of the Pharaoh's journey.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Forbidden Sight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus follows the strange turbaned man into a secret chamber.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Part 1: Leaving the Nest</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter 8: A Forbidden Sight</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>It wasn't difficult to follow the group of men as they dragged their captive back the way they'd come. Pegasus hung back, observing them as they shoved the man forward, clearly intending to subject him to something terrible. Pegasus had seen enough movies to know that this was exceedingly dangerous, but he had the phone number for the American Embassy on speed dial in his cell phone, and, as Croquet had insisted, a serrated, all-purpose knife concealed on his person. It was in a holster under his pants, strapped to his left calf. Its weight gave him some comfort as he shadowed the men. Only once did he think they might have noticed him, and then only when the turbaned man who was clearly their leader paused, his followers flowing around him like water around a rock. He angled his head slightly, and Pegasus had to dart behind a stack of crates in the alley to avoid his glance. He didn't make any noise at least, but he wasn't sure how adept the group was at sniffing out unwanted observers.</p>
<p>Luckily, the man moved away, apparently dismissing whatever had jangled his senses and following his group of men through a door at the back of the alley. It was half-hidden by a pile of wooden crates, some of which still contained rotten produce. There were flies in abundance, and Pegasus gagged a little as he steeled himself, turning the latch and letting the door swing inward.</p>
<p>He didn't know what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't to be confronted with nothing at all. He blinked, waving the swarm of flies away from his face. Finally, Pegasus stepped into the room, pulling the door carefully shut behind him. It was a warehouse of some kind, and light slanted though the boards that covered the windows from the outside. There were more crates, though none of them seemed occupied by anything as irritating, or at least as obvious, as the flies outside. But where could they have gone?</p>
<p>Pegasus took one more hesitant step into the room, then another, growing bolder with each movement. It was dark, and the floor beneath him was made of solid stone. There was a thick layer of dust on the floor, so much so that he had to wonder if he'd somehow been duped. Perhaps they'd taken some other way? But no, there had been no other door. They couldn't have just vanished.</p>
<p>Croquet had told him stories of the early days of the Family, to which his father and Croquet both belonged to varying degrees. There were times back in the 1920s when Prohibition had required those selling alcohol on the black market to hide their activities from prying eyes. This meant that speakeasies had developed, secret rooms that could only be accessed via hidden doors. Most of them were carefully guarded secrets, passed on via word of mouth. It was a different time back then, and his great grandfather had gotten started in those days, doing errands for the bosses. When Las Vegas had become a Mafia playground, his grandfather had joined the migration and served the Family well despite his own lack of Italian heritage. He'd eventually worked his way into the level of consigliostro, an adviser who answered directly to the man in charge as part of a crime family equivalent of a three person board. Tenaciousness and careful observation of opponents had its advantages.</p>
<p>The stories came back to him as he surveyed the area. Now that he looked more closely, it looked suspiciously disheveled. How long could a warehouse remain neglected in such a tiny town in the middle of the desert? The people seemed on the verge of poverty, yet this was left uninhabited by even vagrants? Food outside left to spoil despite the obvious hunger and poverty? Pegasus thought it unlikely. He drew his knife, expecting the unnatural silence to herald an attack, and retraced his steps, eyes darting every which way.</p>
<p>The crates that littered the area looked largely unused, dusty, ramshackle and avoided. But, if he focused, he could smell the traces of something burning. It confused him for moment, and he looked around, trying to see if there was a fire. Something like that would set the building ablaze. Then, he realized that he was only smelling the smoke from one direction, the area around where he'd entered. He retraced his steps cautiously. The smell got stronger as he got closer, and he frowned. There was no sight of any source of the smoke, or even smoke at all. Where was it coming from?</p>
<p>As he looked around, a glimmer caught his eye. There was light coming from … beneath the floor?</p>
<p>Suddenly, there was a loud sound like a massive stone being moved. The floor in front of the door shifted. Pegasus darted behind one of the many piles of crates as the floor, now he could clearly see it was a trap door, slid open. The light spilled out of the crack, and the smell of smoke filled the air as he saw a bearded man carrying, not a flashlight, an actual flaming torch. He peered around, clearly looking to see if there was an intruder. Behind him, a distant male voice called out something in a language that Pegasus didn't understand; the man at the trapdoor barked something back, looking over his shoulder. Pegasus gripped the knife: it was now or never. There was a hostage down there, perhaps not innocent but surely not deserving of the cruel fate these men had planned. There was no good reason to drag a man into an abandoned warehouse and into a room hidden by a trap door. It spelled murder to Pegasus, and there was no good way he could stand by knowing it was happening.</p>
<p>It was true that his family was connected to the mafia, but Pegasus wasn't keen that kind of work; he as a pacifist, to be honest. However, that didn't mean that he was unaware of the way the world worked. These people could just as well be terrorists as vigilantes. Had Croquet been there, Pegasus knew what he would say: cut their throats and save the hostage. But Pegasus didn't want to kill anyone.</p>
<p>The man in the doorway didn't see him approach. Pegasus didn't want to have to use the knife, but the thief could be dying right now. He had to act quickly. He inched close, trying to stay in the man's blind spot. When he was within striking distance, he rushed forward, grabbing the lid of the trapdoor and lifting it out of the man's reach. The man had a comical look of surprise on his face, but Pegasus didn't expect that would last for long. He kicked the man in the face, putting the weight of his hiking boot to good use. The man's head rocked back, and he lost his grip on the ladder. He didn't make a sound as he fell, hitting the bottom with a thud moments later.</p>
<p>Pegasus winced at the noise, then waited, his heart pounding with terror and exhilaration. <em>It worked. It really worked!</em> Below, the torch still burned a few feet from the fallen man. He closed his eyes, focusing a bit, and realized he didn’t sense anyone either. For once, his strange abilities were useful. Carefully, Pegasus swung his legs over the side and into the doorway, still gripping the lid of the trap door in one hand. It was getting heavy, but he didn't have time to concentrate on it too much. He lowered himself into the pit, pulling the door over him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Thief's Test</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus witnesses the power of the Millennium Ring, then finds himself in equal danger.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Part 1: Leaving the Nest</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter 9: The Thief’s Test</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Pegasus descended deeper into the cavern, following the only path available. He expected a new person to emerge from the darkness at any moment, but none did. Soon though, he could hear screams. Their captive. Pegasus broke into a run.</p><p>The tunnel opened up ahead, and he skidded to a halt behind the pillar. There were stairs nearby leading down to a vast underground chamber. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. The ceiling was tall, narrowing to a single point like the inside of a pyramid. There were hieroglyphics, and Pegasus was once again reminded of Indiana Jones. He shivered: deep below the desert sands, the temple was cold. Torches lined the walls and flames licked from oil lamps, illuminating the room well enough to make out the turbaned man, the thief, and the armed men.</p><p>The thief was held between two of the men, and he begged their leader in such fast Arabic that Pegasus could scarcely follow it. But he didn’t really need to, did he? He could feel the fear, thick as sea fog. The other men though radiated excitement, almost religious fervor. It was frightening.</p><p>Pegasus looked for an opening, but there was really no way to descend the staircase without being seen. Guards were everywhere. Pegasus held his knife helplessly, then pulled out his phone. Nothing. Somehow, it was completely dead. “What in the hell?”</p><p>Then the hairs on his arms stood on end, and he shivered again, though not from the cold. The room had gone dead silent, and there was the sound of ghostly chimes. Pegasus shifted his crouch, peering around the column to see the turbaned man had retrieved the strange ring the thief had stolen, it’s points moving of their own accord, jingling together like music from the dead. The thief was shoved onto his knees in the center of the raised dais, and the men held him there as the turbaned man said something in Arabic. Pegasus expected them to behead the man, but there were no weapons about. Then, the leader simply put the necklace over the man’s head to the ring lay upon his chest. The music stopped, the ring sitting on the man’s chest, but something was wrong. The guards’ excitement had reached a fever pitch. The room was still dead silent, so much so that Pegasus scarcely breathed. He felt his own heart racing. Something terrible was happening.</p><p>The point on the ring stabbed the captive’s flesh. He shrieked, a horrifying sound, and Pegasus gasped.</p><p>Then the thief burst into flames. He writhed, screaming.</p><p>Pegasus, transfixed, felt pure soul-searing agony from the burning man. He moaned, gripping his head, backing away. It was too much. He could barely stand. He needed to get away! But he collided with something solid. Then, strong hands were around his arms, his wrists, squeezing until he dropped the knife and phone. “No, let me go!” He struggled, his head pounding with the man’s screams and his blinding pain. The guards ignored him, dragging Pegasus between them out of his hiding place.</p><p>As they approached the stairs, the thief’s shrieks stopped and his body collapsed on its back into a pile of charred flesh and blood, his skull coming loose to roll aside. The points of the ring were still buried in the remains of in his chest, and the eye in its center glared up from its gruesome home. The gold gleamed unmarred as though it hadn’t just been bathed in flames and flesh.</p><p>The turbaned man retrieved the necklace with a blank expression, “He was not worthy.” Then he turned to stare at Pegasus as he was dragged down the stairs.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you found this chapter gory, the next one is double that. Tread cautiously, and skip to chapter 11 if you want to avoid the violence.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Blood and Sacrifice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pegasus must endure the Millennium Eye's test. <br/>CW: Unvarnished depiction of Pegasus’ experiences including assault , mutilation, and both psychological and physical torture.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Part 1: Leaving the Nest</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter 10: Blood and Sacrifice</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The man in the turban stepped forward, leaving the charred, bloody body of the thief smoking on the dais.</p>
<p>There was a man on either side of him, and they had a good strong grip. He strained with all his strength, but he was no Superman and they held him fast. "Please, what do you want?" He could sense nothing from them, as though they weren't really there at all. That wasn't possible -- their grip was strong enough -- but they had no emotion, nothing a all. It made him struggle harder, but the men held him tighter, so tight that he began to lose feeling in his fingertips.</p>
<p>The turbaned man regarded him with eyes as deep and empty as a poisoned sea, "You should have heeded my warning."</p>
<p>“I won't tell anyone. Please, let me go!"</p>
<p>The man remained impassive, his expression blank, his emotions just not there. He was like a blank slate, and Pegasus could sense nothing from him: neither good nor bad. "You have seen too much. You cannot leave until you have been tested by one of the Millennium Items."</p>
<p>Behind him, the men seemed to come to some decision. They pulled him tighter to them then shoved him forward toward the dais. The threw up his hands to protect himself, but he still landed hard, scuffing them badly and jarring his left wrist. It throbbed, but he got to his knees warily, the men still looming behind him. Thoughts of the sorts of things he'd seen on television, of terrorists who beheaded reporters on camera for the word to see, flooded his mind. He'd thought about death ever since Cyndia had lost her grip on life, but now, faced with something so gruesome, he felt only fear. If nothing else, he wanted to live. He thought of his mother, his father, Croquet... all of them would be heartbroken. They'd think he'd gone looking for death, a sort of suicide by adventure. They'd have been half right, he supposed, but that was no fate he wanted now. He thought of Cyndia whose final emotions had been terror and then, as she faded, a dawning horror before nothingness overwhelmed her. There was no afterlife, he was quite certain. There was no God. There was only entropy awaiting the living at the end of their brief, flickering lives.</p>
<p>“Please. I won't tell anyone what I saw." He tried not to stare at the charred corpse of the thief, but his eyes kept drifting in that direction as the man in the turban approached a raised tablet. He looked down at it a moment, considering, and then retrieved a small sphere, surely no larger than a ping pong ball.</p>
<p>“You will be tested by the Millennium Eye." He nodded at the men then, and Pegasus didn't have time to react before they were on him, four of them now, pinning him to the stone stairs so that the lip of one dug painfully into the middle of his back. Three of them held him in place, while the fourth stepped back and retrieved something from a wooden box.</p>
<p>Pegasus was struggling before, but he began to buck an thrash with renewed terror when the man turned, revealing the serrated knife in his hand, "Oh Jesus, please no! Oh god!"</p>
<p>The man in the turban said nothing, only stared impassively as the fourth man advanced, gripping Pegasus' jaw in one large, rough hand. Pegasus tried to move his head, but the men held him fast. The knife filled his vision, advancing toward the left side of his face. "Please! Please, I'll do anything!"</p>
<p>No one responded, and the man grabbed Pegasus’ upper eyelid, pulling it away from his face. The knife descended. Pegasus screamed, but it did no more good than closing his eyes did. The man sliced way his upper eyelid with the ease and precision of a practiced hunter. Pegasus blinked, but he couldn’t close the left eye. He was weeping, the pain horrific. All around him, the men had reached a zealous joy that made it worse. <em>I’m going to die down here</em>, he thought.</p>
<p>The man wiped away the blood with his thumb before pushing the knife under Pegasus' eyeball itself. At this point, Pegasus’ shrieks reached a pitch he never knew he could hit, wailing as the pain flooded him and the horror of the knife in his vision seared itself onto his brain. The man took his time, carefully cutting around until he could pry free and extract the entire eyeball unharmed. Pegasus' face felt raw, and for one horrible moment he could see through removed the eye, lifted, turned upside down so he could see himself and his mangled, too-pale face and his assailants at the same time. Then the man severed the connecting nerves and half of Pegasus' vision was gone forever.</p>
<p>Pegasus was moaning, sobbing helplessly as the man stood and presented the eyeball to the turbaned man who took it with great reverence. He wrapped it in a linen cloth, placed it in a dish, and set it alight. Pegasus’ eye burned like some macabre offering, and then the leader descended the stairs himself.</p>
<p>“You are strong to have not fallen into madness from the pain. That is good." He produced the sphere, glinting in the light. "Now you will be tested by the Millennium Eye itself. If it accepts you, it will grant you great power and sight. You will see the truth in all things, and perhaps even beyond."</p>
<p>Pegasus heard him, but it was faint and echoed. He felt detached from the pain, separated from it, as though it were happening a great distance away. The turbaned man knelt, and drew closer, and Pegasus saw the sphere approaching him, just out of his vision on his left side. A cruel realization washed over him. He thought of the thief, stabbed and burned alive, and knew this was his fate too. But the thought didn't frighten him as much as it might have mere moments ago. He rather welcomed it. He only wished that things had been different, that he could see his beloved once more. The horror of her death, her final realization that there was nothing beyond the dark veil, left him cold. At least the pain would cease, and hadn’t a cynical part of him hoped for death anyway? He sighed, "Oh, Cyndia..."</p>
<p>The man had to use some force to shove the orb into place, and Pegasus' already raw and frayed nerves and flesh cried out anew at the pain. He moaned, helpless, no longer strong enough to scream or fight, and then it was wedged into place with a wet pop, and he felt something explode inside of him. He wasn't aware at first that he was screaming, but he did feel that the men had released him. He rolled over onto his belly, writing, clutching at the orb now firmly wedged in his eye socket. He couldn’t pry it free, his fingers too slick with his own blood. The pain seared through him unlike any he'd ever felt in himself or others, far worse than the removal of his eye in the first place.</p>
<p>He felt something tearing through his mind, pushing, sifting through his thoughts, his feelings, his memories like a highly efficient squad of intelligence gatherers in a suspected criminal's home. Memories, feelings, ideas he'd thought he'd forgotten long ago — it all flooded his mind. Croquet’s firm hand on his shoulder. The sight of Marianne laying face-down in the garden pond and his mother’s broken wail as she gathered her daughter’s body to her chest, the feeling of the California sun on his back as he painted outdoors. The thrill of waking before the household to watch Saturday morning cartoons and eat Lucky Charms. He suddenly remembered things he'd seen and experienced as an infant, staring up at his parents as they argued and crying: he could feel their intense dislike for one another, and he feared they'd abandon him forever. The feeling of Cyndia’s warm hand in his as they danced. He felt his awe of Cyndia when they'd first met, the most beautiful person he'd ever seen, as she knelt to scratch their host's Pomeranian behind the ears.</p>
<p>He felt the pain of their connection severed all over again, the emptiness as she'd faded from existence while her father and mother stood impassive -- how could they feel nothing for her?</p>
<p>The rage filled him, and whatever was sorting through his mind latched onto it, formulating some feeling that felt like a question. He didn't now how to respond, so it replayed the memory followed by, once again, the feeling of a question.</p>
<p>He didn't know what to do, and so he thought of Cyndia, beautiful on the beach and laughing as the waves kissed her toes, dancing on the shoreline, giggling as he chased her, caught her, wrestled with her until it became a different sort of wrestling altogether. They’d kissed, held each other, then laughed as a big wave smacked them. Then of course, as had been the custom lately, thoughts of her laughing and so much alive were followed by the rending pain of seeing her laying in that hospital bed, the cancer tearing through her, and her parents standing by, saying they were going to let her pass, that it was God's will, that it was clear that not everyone was meant for this world. The injustice of it when he might have helped! If they'd needed the money, he would have gladly paid for her treatment. He'd begged them, begged them over and over again, until her father finally snapped at him, <em>You’re embarrassing yourself, let her die with dignity.</em> They’d ceased allowing him into her hospital room, even over her protests. They’d confiscated her phone when they caught the pair texting. Had the nurses not taken pity on him, he might not have even been nearby when she'd passed.</p>
<p>Whatever was in his mind seemed to recognize this, and as suddenly as it had come upon him, it retreated. He was left kneeling on the floor of the stone chamber, one hand clutching at the searing pain in his face as the blood dripped steadily and pooled onto the stone beneath him. He took a ragged breath, let it out, then took another.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m alive. Damaged, but alive. </em>
</p>
<p>Then he looked up and saw a light. It didn't look like the torchlight he'd seen before, and the chamber seemed to have vanished into a strange mist.</p>
<p>
  <em>Am I dead?</em>
</p>
<p>He got to his feet shakily, one hand still to his face. He felt the cold metal there where his eyelid should be and recoiled.</p>
<p>“Maximillion!"</p>
<p>That voice. It froze him to the spot, his heart seemed to stop for an instant. It couldn't be. It was impossible. She was gone, horrified in that final moment before slipped into nothingness. He looked up into the light, blinking, "Cyndia?"</p>
<p>What he saw was impossible, and yet there she was in front of him. A shape was materializing from the mist, pink hued at first and then solidifying. Her hair was flowing around her, her blue dress, the one she'd been buried in, billowing around her body. He sensed her love and relief, her sheer joy at seeing him. He would have known the feel of her emotions, her thoughts, anywhere, "Cyndia! It's really you!"</p>
<p>“Oh, my love!" She was there, descending into his arms like some kind of angel. She hugged him fiercely, and he held her, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. She was warm and solid and present. She was crying, "Maximillion. I've been searching for you for so long!"</p>
<p>He was weeping now, and he stammered, “I've been looking too. I'd given up. Oh Cyndia, I've found you at last!"</p>
<p>She held him, and then, suddenly, there was nothing. He was left clutching only empty air, "What..." He blinked, looking around. "Cyndia! Cyndia, where are you!" Her emotions, her feelings for him — he could no longer sense her at all, as though she’d never existed.</p>
<p>Until he spoke, Pegasus had forgotten the turbaned man was still there, “Your wish has been granted. The Millennium Eye has accepted you, but be warned: seeing is not the same as touching, holding." His expression was as impassive as ever.</p>
<p>Pegasus turned on him, heedless of the eye flashing with his despair, “But I was holding her! She was right here!"</p>
<p>The man in the turban shook his head, "The Eye alone cannot grant you her life. She is dead, and now she dwells in this plane once again. However, she is not alive. She is not whole. She cannot be your bride." Around them, the light had faded leaving only the torchlight of before. The strange men who had held him down and carved out his eye were gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I kept this as close to canon as possible, combining the manga and anime versions. Thank you for reading this far &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Keeper of the Millennium Items</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Having survived the test, Pegasus must now confront the immediate and long term implications.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Part 1: Leaving the Nest</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Chapter 11: The Keeper of the Millennium Items</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Pegasus shuddered and sat down heavily. The room resembled a tomb more than a hidden cavern now that it was mostly empty. The acrid scent of charred flesh from the murdered thief hung in the air, something he’d never expected to be able to identify. He was still bleeding, though not as badly. He didn’t dare try to stand again. He’d lost a great deal of blood, and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. His legs felt like jelly and his whole body was shaking as though he’d been in a terrible accident.</p>
<p><em>Come to think of it, that’s precisely what happened to me.</em> Gingerly he reached up to touch the left side of is face. It was slick and warm, and in the place where his eye had once been there was a metallic orb. He felt it with his fingers, morbidly curious. It too was slick, likely with his own blood, and he winced. Reflexively, he tried to blink, but of course nothing moved. <em>They cut off my eyelids</em>, he thought. He felt sick.</p>
<p>The turbaned man, the leader who had forced on Pegasus this strange eye, regarded him without expression, “You are strong indeed. It has selected you to be the new guardian of the sacred Millennium Eye, the item that can see into men's hearts."</p>
<p>Pegasus looked up, his line of vision half of what it once had been, and saw the turbaned man was still standing as though nothing had happened. He was still impassive, as though the ghost of his beloved Cyndia had not materialized and floated down from the vaulted ceiling of the chamber. His eyes, though, were different. He hadn't noticed before, but his eyes seemed more flat, emptier than he'd ever seen any eyes. They looked unreal, and as Pegasus blinked, simply closing his real eye heightened the sensation: he realized he could see tough the man. Pegasus gasped, scrambling back, "Who are you?"</p>
<p>The man looked at him for a long moment, and then stepped off the dais. His feet were clad in simple linen slippers, and his robe was heavy enough not to flutter or flap as he walked. He did not blink as he approached, but his gaze was hypnotic. Although moments ago the man had committed some horrible violation against him, Pegasus didn't feel fear. For some reason, he could simply tell that the man meant him no further harm, at least not for the moment.</p>
<p>When he reached the base of the dais and was mere feet from Pegasus, "I am the keeper of the Millennium Key and the Millennium Scales. I have safeguarded the Millennium Eye since its last owner fell into madness." He reached out his hand. Pegasus hesitated, then took it, allowing the man to help him to his feet. His skin was cool to the touch, but not cold.</p>
<p>Pegasus was shaky, but he held his ground, "Will I too fall into madness?"</p>
<p>The man looked up at him, a foot at least shorter, but there was no illusion about who was in control of the situation, “That I do not know. It is possible that the Millennium Eye was corrupted during ancient times, but I cannot be certain. You alone will be able to tell."</p>
<p>“Was I hallucinating? I saw --"</p>
<p>“What you saw was real. The Millennium Items each grant a boon to their owners once they have passed the test. By contrast, you have seen what failure looks like."</p>
<p>Pegasus nodded, thinking of the thief writhing in flaming pain. "So you were merely testing him then."</p>
<p>“He may have been drawn to the Millennium Ring because he was meant to wield it. The previous owner was a thief as well, but this man was not fated to bear that item."</p>
<p>“That’s harsh, but I think I see." Pegasus shivered a little. "So I really saw Cyndia then."</p>
<p>Shadi nodded, "The Millennium Eye granted you a boon. What was it you wished to have most of all in this world?"</p>
<p>Pegasus didn't hesitate, "To see her again. Cyndia, I mean. We were to be married, but she died suddenly. It was terrible." It was the first time he'd spoken of it, diminishing something so terrible into so few words. It compartmentalized it somewhat, and only made him feel worse for outliving her.</p>
<p>“The pain in your heart called out to the Eye and it gave you that which you most desire. Be warned, though, that wishes made in a time of pain are rarely granted in a way that will fully please the wisher. You have seen her, but this will only fuel your grief. You must not allow it to consume you as the previous bearer of the Eye allowed his own pain to consume him."</p>
<p>“Okay," said Pegasus, though he wasn't entirely sure that he did. How could simply seeing Cyndia again be a bad thing? He'd thought her gone, lapsed into some endless abyss that had consumed her at the point of death, but now he knew that she still existed in some form. If there was no afterlife, wasn’t being together a better option than being alone? He had no way of knowing, but simply seeing her had reassured him a little. She still existed, and that was perhaps the best knowledge he could have had. "I'll keep your warning in mind."</p>
<p>The Keeper nodded, "There has not been a new bearer of the Millennium Eye for 5,000 years, not since the time of the ancient Pharaoh. This bodes well: The time of his awakening is coming."</p>
<p>Pegasus blinked, "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>The turbaned man looked at him, and his gaze was deep and endless, "Look to Egypt, for that is where you will learn the truths that have been long buried. As the first to come, it stands to you to bring the power of the Shadow Games into this world once more. I will guide you, as much as I can."</p>
<p>“Egypt? Shadow Games? This is ... I don't know what you mean by any of this. I don't know much of anything about Egypt, only that it's beautiful and... clearly very dangerous."</p>
<p>The Item Keeper nodded gravely, "It is indeed, but there is beauty among the terrors. You will learn to see it." He frowned, "I have told you enough to begin. I must leave you now."</p>
<p>“Wait, what do you mean? I don't even know what this Millennium Eye does or how to use it. What do you mean it sees into men's hearts?"</p>
<p>“You will learn. The power will come to you, if you listen carefully. Listen to the darkness in your heart, but again, do not allow it to consume you."</p>
<p>Pegasus frowned, “What does that mean? How can I just listen to darkness?"</p>
<p>The man looked at him for a long moment, and then he began to sink. At first Pegasus thought he was sinking to his knees, so he backed away alarmed. That was when he saw the truth: the being was sinking into a pool of darkness in the floor. "What's happening!?"</p>
<p>Already he was almost gone, but he paused with the shadow up to his shoulders and regarded Pegasus with a hint of amusement. It was the first emotion Pegasus had seen from him, "Do not fear. I shall be near if you call, though I will not always answer."</p>
<p>“No, wait!" But already he was gone, swallowed up by the pool of darkness. Pegasus reached a hand in, and he felt a cold that he'd never felt before he was forcibly expunged. It was as though a great wave pushed him out. He backed away. The darkness pulsed once then shrank in on itself until it vanished. Pegasus fell to his knees, feeling the cool stones, but there was nothing. It was solid rock, as far as he could tell. <em>Magic. That was magic of some sort. Magic is … real.</em></p>
<p>Pegasus sat back on his heels and scrubbed a hand over his face, "Jesus." When he pulled his hand away, it was sticky with blood and gore. And now that his adrenaline was slowing, he realized his entire left side of his face throbbed. His face felt bruised at the chin and throat, and his wrists ached. Taking a deep breath, he shakily got to his feet once again. His clothes were covered in blood long the left side of his shirt, especially at the shoulders, and his hat was nowhere to be found. He shivered, glancing at the tablet. It bore an engraving of a pharaoh holding his hands over his chest in a funeral pose. The golden items like Pegasus’ own, including the ring, were gone. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. No, he recognized the small cradle that held the Millennium Eye he now bore, centered in the Pharaoh’s forehead between his eyes. It reminded him of chakras and the third eye. Interesting.</p>
<p>The pack of art supplies was still laying where he'd dropped it, and he pulled it over his shoulder. It felt heavier, and a wave of exhaustion stole over him. He would have taken a picture, but a sketch would have to do. He drew what he saw as he always had, and, just for good measure, copied the hieroglyphics exactly. He would try to understand them later once he was home.</p>
<p>Home. The idea of home had never felt so good.</p>
<p>He took off his jacket and poured some of the water from his pack over the cotton fabric. When he placed the cool water to his face, he sighed. It would be miraculous to take a cool shower, he thought, but for now he needed to not look like a murder victim. He scrubbed at his face, avoiding the areas that hurt the most. He was tender where the knife had gouged him, and he tried not to think on it too much. Better to get back and check into a hotel room. He'd be able to work from there.</p>
<p>He scrubbed off the areas he could, but the place immediately around the Millennium Eye was still too painful. What could he do? He supposed he could tear some of the fabric that wasn't bloody and wrap it around his head, but that would simply draw attention, not help him remain anonymous. He stood calm, head down, considering. He pushed some of his hair out of his face, then paused. That was it! Carefully, he parted his hair to the side, pulling long strands over the left side of his face. It was makeshift, and it probably wouldn't hold up in the wind, but it would have to do.</p>
<p>There were many stairs to climb before he emerged into the blinding sun. When he did, he thought people would look at him immediately. He expected women to scream, someone to run forward and offer to call the police, and perhaps a team of paramedics to materialize out of nowhere. He had no idea how he would explain the golden eye now lodged in his eye socket, but his fears were unfounded. The people at the marketplace were still going about their business as though nothing had happened. There were no police looking into the missing thief or the vanished tourist. As he walked down the main road toward where he'd told the cabbie he would meet him later, he kept his head down. He didn't want to chance the wind repositioning his hair and revealing the gory horror to the world.</p>
<p>When he reached the little produce stand at the far end of the marketplace, the sun was lower and the air was becoming chilly. The cab driver was there, chatting with a pretty young girl behind the produce stand while an older man who could only be the girl's father looked on with a frown that could have curdled milk. Pegasus waved to the cabbie who slipped the girl a piece of paper with a wink and sidled back to his dusty vehicle. "Making good art, mister?"</p>
<p>Pegasus sighed, sliding into he back seat. "Not producing much, but there are some fine sights to see."</p>
<p>The cabbie whistled low, waving at the girl as he revved the engine and turned to get back on the highway that led into Cairo once more. "You can say that again! I've never been out here before. Lovely sights indeed!"</p>
<p>“Yes," said Pegasus, staring out the window. He was afraid the man would smell the blood, but the windows were down, and soon enough the radio was on, the cabbie singing along to an Alicia Keyes song as he drove breakneck through the scant road. Slowly the world became more modern, and Cairo by comparison was a bustling metropolis. It was nothing like the place they'd been a few hours ago, a place that hearkened back to the bygone days before modernity had touched Egypt.</p>
<p>Pegasus thought of the Pharaohs of old, looking at the Great Pyramids in the distance, illuminated by night via huge fluorescent lights. The Item Keeper had mentioned such things, ancient pharaohs and Shadow Games. What did it all mean?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Pegasus’ journey continues in Gods and Monsters Part 2: The Creator of Duel Monsters.</p>
<p>In the manga, Pegasus never knew Shadi's name. I wanted to keep that factor. It makes more sense considering Shadi doesn't see any problem with using and discarding people for his own purposes.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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